


i dreamed of a garden in a wedding attire

by Shenno



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Time, Fix-It, Hand Jobs, M/M, Middle Aged Virgins, Post-Seine, Religious Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29928063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenno/pseuds/Shenno
Summary: "You think it's a sin," Javert said with his customary bluntness one day over the morning tea, making Valjean splutter.“God created men weak so that we would need one other and could learn how to help another, and how to love,” he said carefully after a long pause."Still you do, don't you?"Valjean's had enough courage to say: I don't know.
Relationships: Javert/Jean Valjean
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	i dreamed of a garden in a wedding attire

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [снился мне сад в подвенечном уборе](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29586579) by [Shenno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenno/pseuds/Shenno), [WTF Les Miserables 2021 (WTF_Les_Miserables_2021)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Les_Miserables_2021/pseuds/WTF%20Les%20Miserables%202021). 



> \- Might be read as a sequel to [in those heavy days in june](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25146727) or a standalone.
> 
> \- Yes, I was watching Gentleman Jack and went oh. OH. This fic grew from there.
> 
> \- The title - my rough translation of the Russian song you can listen to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjsIEKJOTOs&t=11s&ab_channel=Len4hek) (don't mind the video). The first verse goes like this: I dreamed of a garden in a wedding attire / We are together in this garden with you / The stars [are] in the sky / The stars [are] on the sea / The stars are in my own heart. It's more poetic obviously but still you can see why that's one of the songs I associate with Javert strongly.

Valjean had gathered enough courage to kiss Javert in response when by the end of his halting, apologetic, and self-recriminating rambling he said: _I love you_. The kiss was exactly as awkward as might have been expected; Javert's hands were cold and heavy on his shoulders, and still, still — something inside Valjean bloomed, the flower opening and turning to the sun.

***  
"Please, believe me, I will not ask of you anything you are not willing to give. I had taken enough from you."

Valjean swallowed and pressed Javert's hand, trying to convey he understands and he is not upset with him.

This was one of the first evenings when after dining together they moved to the sofa, and the kisses, awkward and almost chaste at the beginning, started to deepen, to turn into something else entirely, something filling Valjean's body with unfamiliar heat. Javert's fingers tangled in his curls, Valjean's own hands on his friend's waist tried to pull him closer as if by their own volition. Javert put his free hand on Valjean's knee and his broad palm seemed to be burning through the fabric of trousers. At some point the heat, like the wax of a melting candle, started to drip lower, concentrating between Valjean's thighs, and with a high, startled sound he could barely contain in his throat, Valjean pulled away. Javert lifted his hand immediately and Valjean couldn't help but mourn the loss. Red in the face, panting with a mouth slightly opened, Javert seemed to him incredibly handsome at this moment.

Javert both understood him correctly and misunderstood entirely.

The problem was not that Valjean didn't want. The problem was — he wanted, and the strength of this desire frightened him.

***

After that, Javert did not refrain from touching, often taking Valjean's hand first, kissing him on the lips - but still, Valjean felt that he was holding back, and the right to decide when, how — and if — these almost chaste touches will grow into something else belonged to him. Javert, it seemed, was quite ready to content himself with their walks, with the evenings, now more frequent and lasting longer, which they spent talking or reading, and by the end of which Javert inevitably left, kissing Valjean goodbye. A couple of times they found themselves on the same sofa, with a book set aside or awkwardly pressed between them, but when Valjean inevitably pulled away, there was no disappointment on Javert's face — only that huge, warm, heavy thing which Javert dared to name — _I love you_ — when Valjean still lacked the courage to examine it too closely.

***  
He had enough courage though to propose time and time again: would you like me to read to you? — and Javert inevitably agreed, his features softened by the warm glow of the fireplace, eyes heavy-lidded, his gaze at the same time slightly out of focus and still too heavy, making Valjean blush hotly every time he looked up from the book.

***  
He had then enough courage to ask one day: stay the night. Cosette's room is empty. You don't have to go back to your place in the dark.

That evening they stayed up longer than usual, and, after almost fleeing to his room, Valjean lay for a long while, unable to find sleep, excitement in his soul and between his thighs both sweet and agonizing. The thought of touching himself, knowing that Javert lay in the next room, was forbidden fruit, unbearably sinful temptation.

That night Valjean spent long hours staring at the ceiling with his hands over the covers.

***  
The next time he had enough courage to say: "please, stay" and take Javert by his hand, silently leading him away from Cosette's old room.

“I don’t know how… I don’t know,” Valjean admitted helplessly after the door closed behind them. What they did before, kissing and touching - it was all nice, yes, more than nice, but still the thought of just… undressing, letting someone touch him there - seemed insurmountable.

“If you want to, we can just…” Javert swallowed, trying to find his words. "Sleep together. I mean. Just sleep. We don't have to do anything, but maybe..."

“Yes,” Valjean agreed hastily and tried to smile.

The warmth and the heaviness of another person's body behind him were too new, too raw. Valjean could feel Javert's presence with every cell of his body, without even seeing him. Still, the flower, which began to bloom in his heart and his body, continued to reach for this unexpected sun.

***  
Night after night, they kept going to bed together, and still, somehow, Valjean could not take the next step. His own desire kept frightening him, he knew not why.

"You think it's a sin," Javert said with his customary bluntness one day over the morning tea, making Valjean splutter.

“God created men weak so that we would need one other and could learn how to help another, and how to love,” he said carefully after a long pause.

"Still you do, don't you?"

Valjean's had enough courage to say: I don't know.

***  
Valjean tried to reconcile God's love with the way he loved Javert. It would have been much easier if his friend's touches, even the most innocent ones, had not ignited in him such a heat, if he had not woken up almost every morning with a hot heaviness between his thighs.

He read them aloud _The Symposium_ and _Phaedrus_. He read the _Song of Songs._ Tried to read Abelard but quickly abandoned the idea. Javert, as always, did not comment on his choice of literature.

The thought in Valjean's mind began to take on more and more distinct shapes, but he had gathered enough courage to voice it only after a couple more weeks.

They were lying in the darkness, Javert's arms around Valjean's waist, the air between them both languid and full of tension, which could turn quite quickly into arousal, almost familiar by now, when Valjean, eyes shut, without turning around, dared to voice the thought he has been pondering for a long time:

“I want to marry you.”

“What.” Javert's voice was flat.

Having to imagine what he would see on his friend's face made him even more anxious, so Valjean turned around, without breaking the embrace, trying to catch Javert's gaze in the darkness:

“I believe God would not judge us for loving,” Valjean felt his cheek colouring, for he meant the physical aspect of what they’ve been doing and might yet do as much as the feeling itself, “but still I want to do it right. I want us to take the vows and the communion together. To belong to each other in spirit before we do so in flesh.”

“It’s not lawful,” whispered Javert, and oh he never sounded more bitter about the laws.

“Maybe not in the eyes of men. But we will be married in the eyes of the Lord,” Valjean said gently.

“Do you truly believe He will accept us? Do you not think what we’re doing, what I... what we might do yet, is sin?” there were terrible longing in Javert’s face Valjean couldn't bear watching even in the half-darkness of their room, so he took Javert in his arms firmly, bringing him closer, skin to skin contact at this moment more comforting than arousing, something almost chaste to it, and whispered in his ear:

“I do not know. But, well. _Love covers a multitude of sins._ I believe that if we come together in love...” Valjean swallowed the lump in his throat and just as he was about to try and find the right words, he found himself being kissed instead, Javert’s mouth hot and desperate, his body moulding itself into Valjean.

For some time they did no more talking, their touches not chaste but still more comforting than lustful.

“I want to make love to you on our wedding night,” Javert panted in Valjean's mouth, his breath hot, his fingers tangled in Valjean's curls. "I want you to know me as a man knows his wife and vice versa. I will take everything you offer and still want for more, more of you..."

There was something desperately open in Javert's face, which made Valjean's heart clench with terrible affection.

"You will not ask for anything I am not willing to give," he whispered in response.

They couldn't find sleep for a long while yet and still, this sleeplessness was far a far cry from the nights both of them suffered in the solitude before.

***  
Valjean bought them two rings — simple golden bands. The next Sunday they came to the church dressed in their best clothes. Using the cover of the column behind which they were sitting, Valjean took Javert's hand in his, and there was nothing sinful or shameful in it. They knelt next to each other, taking their communion, and Valjean felt at the moment without any doubt: God was there, with them, and God was love.

After returning to Rue Plume, there in the garden, under a blooming jasmine bush, they slipped on each other's fingers their wedding rings, and Javert's face lit up with his rare strange smile, which has become so dear to Valjean.

***  
That night they went to bed, as they had done so many nights prior, and yet Valjean was filled with nervous energy. Everything felt completely different. Everything was — will be — completely different.

There was a rustling sound behind him when Javert moved closer, almost pressing to Valjean's back with his chest, and Valjean felt this "almost", this "not quite" sharply.

Then the touch came: Javert put his hand on Valjean's shoulder.

For some reason, with the distance between them finally breached, everything became easier. Valjean exhaled, relaxing under Javert's palm, which, after the long moment, moved to lie flat on his chest, against his heart. Its heat and heaviness instantly spread over Valjean's body, melting down his stomach and lower. He exhaled haltingly and the tension he felt changed its quality, became charged, like the stillness in the air before a thunderstorm. Javert's breath tickled his ear and Valjean felt goosebumps dance across his skin.

For several long minutes, nothing else happened, but instead of relaxing, Valjean felt as if all his senses concentrated on the points where Javert touched him. Finally, Javert moved again. His hand began lightly stroking Valjean's shoulders, his chest, and he felt the touch of Javert's lips against his neck. Almost innocent, this kiss still seemed to pierce Valjean like a bolt of lighting. He sighed and twitched, not sure if he was trying to move away from this touch or towards it, and Javert immediately kissed his neck again. The liquid warmth in his stomach turned to heat. Javert kept stroking his chest, his stomach — still over the nightshirt, and, leaning back and pressing himself against Javert, Valjean could feel he was just as excited. Javert's hand on his stomach froze, he exhaled sharply, and Valjean felt himself blush heavily. Even through the fabric of their two nightshirts, Javert's prick was too real, too solid and hot. Valjean wanted their clothes to disappear, but to face Javert, to take his nightshirt off, to do anything to break the tension between them seemed inconceivable as if his courage could crumble with any sudden movement. As if realizing this, slowly, so very slowly, Javert pulled back the blanket covering them and put his heavy, warm hand on Valjean's thigh, stroking it, and slightly lifting the hem of his shirt. At last, his hand stopped mid-thigh, with Javert's little finger finally touching his skin. Exhaling softly, Javert kissed Valjean's neck, his shoulders, and Valjean panted heavily, his spine curving into Javert's touch. He placed his hand over Javert's and for a moment they both froze, but Valjean only pulled at the hem of his shirt, lifting it, placing Javert's hand fully on his thigh, skin to skin. The sound Javert made felt equally as a sigh and a strangled groan, and Valjean's hips jerked.

Under the cover of darkness and their actual covers, Valjean felt he did not have to be anxious about how he himself looked, about how he ought to react to the other's nudity, and, although the fear did not recede fully, the sharper the sensations became the easier it was to keep it at bay. Javert pressed against his back, and Valjean felt the heat and heaviness of his prick against his backside. Javert's hands kept exploring, stroking his thighs, his stomach, slowly moving towards Valjean's straining prick, and, when this touch finally happened as well, Valjean could not hold back a choked moan. Javert's fingers were unsure, careful, as if he was using his hand to draw a mental map of Valjean's body, and suddenly everything was not enough.

Facing Javert turned out to be easier than Valjean expected because he was far too eager to kiss him. Javert's mouth was hot and pliable under his. Valjean's hand landed on his back, crumpling up his shirt, lifting it up, and Valjean caught in his mouth Javert's groan as their pricks touched. This touch of hot flesh was something Valjean could not have imagined; the very thought of it was terribly lewd and still, it could do nothing to deter the sweet heat spreading across Valjean's body.

"Valjean... Jean..." Javert whispered into his mouth. Even in the darkness of the room, Valjean could see just how wild his eyes were. Valjean did not want to think about his own look, but Javert's face pulled another half-chocked sound out of him and, wondering at his courage, he started tugging at Javert's nightshirt, until the man sat up, pulled it off over his head, threw it away and lay back. The expanse of the bared skin was startling, and Valjean did not know where to touch first. He needed the second hand, crushed under him awkwardly, and so, unthinkingly, he rolled them over, freeing his hand and lying above Javert. The sound he made at that went straight to Valjean's prick, and the next moment Javert's fingers found him again. Valjean closed his eyes gasping for air, and kissed Javert again, pushing his tongue into his mouth, biting slightly by accident, and then more deliberately at the moan Javert let out. Continuing to explore his body, Valjean found the balance on his elbow, tangling his fingers in Javert's hand and finally, covering Javert's prick with his free hand. Javert groaned into his mouth again, pushing his hips towards him.

From that moment on, everything was an avalanche of feverish, erratic touches. Hands bumping, they touched each other, awkwardly kissing when they found enough breath and coordination. By accident, Valjean pulled at Javert's hair lightly, but the sound he made at that was not one of pain, and it only added to the fire in Valjean's veins.

Their quick heavy breaths mingled, sweat-covered skin slick, and Valjean wanted everything at once: to find the completion faster and to never end this sweet haze. Still, none of them lasted long. Valjean felt with his whole self when Javert tensed, his body almost vibrating, and he managed to catch Javert's moan in a kiss when Javert finished in his hand. Just a couple more touches and Valjean followed him, shuddering, burying his mouth in Javert's neck, as if wanting to melt into him at that moment, and Javert's palm on the back of his neck was his anchor, and his body was a secluded garden, a haven.

" _And the two will become one flesh_ ," Valjean belatedly realized he whispered it out loud when Javert's hand — the hand his wedding ring was on — squeezed his shoulder with awkward tenderness.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course Cosette noticed the wedding rings and understood everything correctly. She was very happy for her Papa. She also might have pulled Javert aside and gave him a stern talk, demanding he makes sure her Papa is happy or else. Of course he humbly promised to do his best.


End file.
